


Any Service Required

by sanguinity



Series: The Hornblowers' To Command [1]
Category: Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: BDSM, Breathplay, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Degradation, F/M, M/M, Multi, Partner-Sharing, Service Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 19:48:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19730572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguinity/pseuds/sanguinity
Summary: "Mr Bush, please stay a moment. We have a service to ask of you. Or rather, I have a service to ask of you, on my husband's behalf."Maria asks Bush to fulfill Hornblower's desire to be degraded and abused. Bush can hardly say no to anything his captain requires.





	Any Service Required

**Author's Note:**

> [An Anon asked at hornblowershitposts](https://hornblowershitposts.tumblr.com/post/183275836916/so-this-isnt-really-a-shitpost-while-were-on), "I can’t stop hcing Hornblower as the type of person who uses really rough sex to relieve stress. I don’t just imagine him subbing and groaning under the pressure of a heavy body against him, I like to hc that he wants to be held down and choked and manhandled till his thoughts go blank and he’s crying for mercy and shaking so badly he can’t stand."
> 
> Thanks to PhoenixFalls for beta!

Dinner was a strained affair, the poverty of Bush's captain very much in display as they sat around a worn deal table in the Hornblowers' cramped Plymouth rooms, the lady herself serving the meal. Captain Hornblower sat in stiff silence while Mrs Hornblower prattled on, asking embarrassingly elementary questions about _Hotspur's_ service, as if she and her husband were not in the habit of speaking about his ship and what he did there. Perhaps they were not. Bush knew little of what married people did, nor how they spent their time. Bush smiled and answered Mrs Hornblower's questions, looking to his captain for some suggestion of when he should speak and when he should remain silent, but Captain Hornblower's gaze remained fixed on his food, leaving Bush to struggle on without guidance. Only once Hornblower lifted his eyes to Bush's, whereupon Hornblower flared into such a bewildering flush of colour that Bush, too, was embarrassed, although he could hardly say what aspect of revictualling the _Hotspur_ could prompt such an emotion in either of them.

"Mr Bush, please stay a moment," Mrs Hornblower said, just when Bush was maneuvering his way around to thanking his hosts and escaping to the relative liberty of the _Hotspur._ "We have a service to ask of you. Or rather, I have a service to ask of you, on my husband's behalf."

"My dear," Captain Hornblower murmured, stirring uneasily in his seat. "This is too great a thing…"

 _"Horry,"_ she chided him, and rested her hand on his. Bush watched in fascination as his captain, normally so irascible and contrary, meekly went silent under her touch. 

"It of course is my honour to render any service either of you might require," Bush volunteered, staunch in the knowledge that he was his captain's to command.

Mrs Hornblower smiled at that, a queer smile that made Bush feel like a schoolboy bragging of the great deeds he might do someday. He shifted uneasily in his chair, and again looked to his captain for guidance. Hornblower only frowned at his plate.

"My husband is correct. It is a great thing we ask, Mr Bush, and you should not feel beholden to say yes." 

"You need only state your desires," Bush affirmed, anxious to not be found wanting by his captain, nor even by his captain's lady. 

And yet Bush was not in the least prepared when she did speak. 

Bush could not say later what had been most shocking. That Mrs Hornblower should know of such things? (But she was a married woman, the wife of a sailor, and all the world knew what sailors did together.) That she should speak of these things so coolly? (And yet she was clearly speaking out of concern for her husband, and it had been evident from the beginning that Maria Mason would do much for Horatio Hornblower.) What should perhaps have surprised Bush the most — that his captain should want to be buggered, and used badly, and made to cry for mercy — somehow surprised Bush not at all. His queer tormented captain! In Kingston there had been a hint of such desires: the whore who had hissed invective in Hornblower's ear while she held him down and used him roughly. At the time, Bush had been amused by the little drama in the other bed, but now… No, that his captain should want such things did not surprise Bush at all. 

What did shock him very much, however, was that Mrs Hornblower should speak of them to Bush, a mere lieutenant. Tomorrow he would stand on the quarterdeck with Hornblower; next week he might follow him into battle; is _this_ what he should be thinking about when he did? _He_ did not think less of his captain for such queer cravings, but to another man, one who did not feel such esteem and loyalty toward Hornblower—

Bush ducked his chin into his collar. That was the rub: there was no other man Bush would trust with such knowledge. Another man might think less of Hornblower, or deliberately injure him; might tarnish his career by dragging his name through the mud, or blackmail him and his lady both. It would not end at the gallows — the Service valued its good name too highly to permit such a public disgrace — but the Service would be all too eager to nudge Hornblower aside, leaving his brilliance to rot while lesser men fumbled opportunities for glory. No, Bush would bring no third man into this: that went without saying. And yet to abuse his captain, to _hurt_ him— 

Since they were lieutenants together, he had watched Hornblower with a confused and yearning kind of admiration, and something in him now surged at the thought of Hornblower yearning for him in return. Even if Hornblower only yearned for what Bush might give, and not for Bush himself — it was still more than Bush had ever hoped for. 

Mrs Hornblower was watching him with head held high, her chin jutted in defiance, ready to do battle for her husband. Bush felt a sudden flush of kinship with her: he, too, would protect Hornblower against all comers, for any reason. 

He turned to his captain. "Sir? Does she speak truly?" 

A storm of emotion raged in Hornblower's eyes, mingled pride and despair. Bush felt an answering rush of feeling — the urge to give succor, certainly, to provide whatever was needed to ease his captain's torment. And yet there was also the uncomfortable itch to see that pride broken, to see Hornblower cry out in honest need. It unsettled Bush, to want such a thing of his captain. 

"Yes," Hornblower said, his fingers clenching on nothing. His jaw worked. "I want… that." 

It was not enough, not against the enormity of what was being asked.

"You want what?" Bush asked, low, and the omitted _sir_ sang in the room like the naked edge of a blade.

Hornblower turned a look of raw fury on him, but an answering stubbornness rose up in Bush, and he refused to give way. Did Hornblower truly believe that Bush would be willing to abuse his captain, to _strike_ him, on nothing more than his wife's word? "I must hear it from your own mouth."

"Tell him, Horry," his wife urged. 

For a moment Bush watched Hornblower struggle. His mouth twisted in a grimace. Then something in him surrendered, the despair coming back into his eyes again. "To be taken… and sodded… and used. Abused. Struck. Choked. Hurt until it is too much, and then even more still. Until… Until I am nothing."

Hornblower's voice nearly trembled with intensity, and even as Bush shied from the magnitude of what Hornblower was asking for, he craved to know how else Hornblower might sound, how he might cry out when overcome with pain and desire. It was intoxicating, Hornblower's need, and in that moment Bush was resolved: no other man should be allowed to see it.

"And when shall I know to stop?" he asked, for he might do much, having been asked, but he would not do more than what was asked for.

"I shall tell you when to stop," Mrs Hornblower said, and Bush looked at her. Hornblower looked at her as well, his hand tightening on his wife's. There was trust in that look; Bush could see that much, however little he understood about married people and what they did together. 

"Sir?" he nevertheless asked. He was Hornblower's to command, not his lady's.

Hornblower cleared his throat. "She will tell you when to stop," he confirmed. Eventually Bush nodded. 

"Well then," he said, unbuttoning his jacket. "Should we begin? My captain doesn't often give me the night's leave." 

But neither Hornblower smiled.

"Horry, my Angel," Mrs Hornblower said, "wait for us in the other room. You know how I want you." 

Hornblower started; he had been staring at Bush with unreadable intensity. He gave his wife a dutiful smile. "Yes, my dear." He stood, bent to place a kiss on her offered lips. With a last inscrutable glance at Bush, he left the room.

He took all of Bush's energy with him. 

"Mr Bush," Mrs Hornblower said, taking his slack hands in hers, and it was his turn to start. "Tell me honestly. You needn't do this."

He shook his head. "I won't have you go to another." 

"We wouldn't. We get on nearly well enough ourselves." She smiled, and it was almost convincing. He wondered, then, what their wedding night had been like. When had Hornblower revealed this about himself, and after what disappointments?

"It's only that he's stronger than I am," she continued. "I can revile him, sod him— Oh, yes!" she exclaimed at Bush's raised eyebrows. "I have a device that he procured for me. It works very nicely," she said, and laughed when Bush stammered. "I can even strike him, for what my blows are worth. But I can't hold him down, not properly. I can't overwhelm him, or hurt him as he wants to be hurt. I can't make it too much for him, not like he needs. He's very good to me, but..." She sighed. "I'm not what he wants."

Bush squeezed her hands, marvelling at her fortitude. It was a wonder indeed that Maria Mason had not turned Hornblower out on his ear and gone back to her mother. She would have been well-justified, if she had.

"So you need me to be your muscle," he said instead. "To make it too much." Bush was not a large man — Hornblower had several inches on him — but Bush was yet a good deal larger than Maria, and had spent his life in the hurly-burly of a King's ship, besides. Hornblower was sparely built and not well-suited to brawling; Bush reckoned he had a wharfside trick or two that Hornblower did not know. Hornblower's hunger to be overwhelmed would do the rest.

"You needn't…" She bit her lip. "Sometimes the will is stronger than the flesh," she said, and again Bush wondered about their wedding night. "And if you find that you can't bugger him, or do not wish to… I have my device. It's the violence that he wants, I think. Not necessarily the thing itself."

Bush's first rush of instinct was to defend his manhood, but reflection forced him to admit that he did not know how hurting Hornblower would affect him. A good wharfside brawl always got his blood up, it was true, but he had never been one to raise a hand to a whore, nor to throw her around to hear her whimper. Hornblower's hunger stirred him, but to actually strike his superior and make him plead… Would it feed him or chill him? He did not know. "I'll keep it in mind, Mrs Hornblower," he said at last.

She smiled, amused. "Perhaps you should call me Maria."

He had to smile, too, given what they were about to do. "And I'm Will." It was what his sisters called him.

"You're very good to do this."

"I'm his man," he said. It was true.

She touched his cheek then, and at the expression in her eyes, he could almost understand Hornblower's impulse to marry her rather than risk disappointing her.

And yet disappoint her Hornblower had. Very greatly, if Bush was any judge of it.

"Come," she said. "He gets himself into a terrible state if I leave him too long." She took Bush's hand, and led him to the bedroom.

It was a small, humble room, but spacious compared to the Hotspur's tiny, cramped cabin. Bush spared little thought for the room, however, because Hornblower sat at the edge of the bed, stripped to the skin, his hands loosely clasped in his lap. There was something almost angelic about those long, graceful lines, the tousled curls bent over the clasped hands; Bush had once seen a painting of a naked youth, pierced by arrows, that had looked so. Then Hornblower looked up, and the impression of innocence was gone: there was so much _hatred_ in that look, such _torment…_ Bush's courage quailed at what he meant to do.

"Horry, my angel, give me your hands," Maria said, breaking the moment.

Hornblower stood and turned his back on them, clasping his hands behind himself, falling into the proud, officer-like stance of the quarterdeck despite his nakedness. Maria withdrew a short length of nearly new cordage from among her skirts, and Bush automatically noted its light weight and fine material, the neat whipping of the ends. She laid a turn about Hornblower's wrists, then two more, and expertly seized them together. Bush stepped forward to inspect her work for himself. It was neat and seamanlike, and the very professionalism of it solidly brought home Hornblower's willingness — nay, his desire — for this act, and likewise Maria's good will toward her husband's desires: Bush had spent too many hours tutoring midshipman to not know the time Hornblower and Maria had likely spent together, teaching her this sequence of knots.

"Very professional," he complimented her, twisting the binding for his inspection. It was an ingenious design, meant to restrain and not injure: he commended his captain's good sense in that, and wondered if the good sense had been his own initiative or his wife's. But the knots did not hold his attention for long; his attention was instead drawn to the warm, living skin of Hornblower's forearm beneath his hand, of the curl of slim fingers over the rise of his buttocks. The skin in the crease of Hornblower's buttocks glistened. It struck Bush with the force of a blow that all of this was intended to be _his,_ William Bush's. _His_ to hurt and care for. To fuck, and make tremble with need, and cry out for mercy. His hand tightened on Hornblower's wrist.

"Turn, my darling," Maria said, and Bush was reminded that he was only an interloper here. On the _Hotspur,_ he belonged to his captain — and they both in turn belonged to their ship — but here on shore Hornblower was Maria's. Bush reluctantly released Hornblower's arm and stood back. 

But Hornblower had barely completed his turn when " _Down,"_ she ordered, and with all the bullying cruelty of the bosun Mayne, sank a knee into the back of Hornblower's, sending him crashing heavily down. She gripped his chin and hauled his face up, making him look at her. His eyes were wide and startled.

"Will you be my good boy?" she asked Hornblower, and Bush felt off-balance by the change in her. 

"I will, yes ma'am," Hornblower said, but the words were no sooner out of his mouth than she struck him across the face.

" _I don't care,"_ she hissed, and struck him again. "I don't care how good you try to be. You're not good enough for me. You've _never_ been good enough for me." Again, she struck him, an open palm hard across the face.

The blow wasn't enough, Bush could see that by the expression in Hornblower's eyes. Maria was too light for the work, didn't have the knack of settling her weight behind her arm. Hornblower had likely learned to take far worse as a midshipman; every King's officer had. Bush reached to loosen his stock. 

"Yes, your lieutenant is going to deal with you," Maria said, when she saw Hornblower's eyes drawn to Bush's movements. "Think you're fit to give him orders? You? To a man like him?" With a glance at Bush she stood aside, and Bush came forward. He stood looking down at his captain.

Hornblower stared up at him, defiance in his eyes.

"Do it, Mr Bush," he hissed. "Like you mean it."

The world seemed to shift around them.

"Listen to your wife, you damned son of a bitch," Bush said.

And drawing back his arm, he put his life in his captain's hands.

He never remembered it properly afterward, knocking Hornblower down and dragging him back up again, only to knock him down again. It was as if another man was doing it, but it was still William's fist that smarted, and it was William's blood that ran hot in him. It wasn't the ritualistic violence of the Navy, with all its forms and ceremonies, nor even the sadistic and offhanded cruelties that were handed down by one's superiors. William was all too aware that he loved this man, loved him passionately and tenderly, and that it was love for his captain that drove him to sink his fist in Hornblower's gut, to make him double over and cough, love that drove him to answer Hornblower's pleas in kind when Hornblower flung himself upon his knees at William and begged him to do it again.

Maria had a streak of cruelty in her that Bush would never have suspected — but perhaps she had learned it at the hands of her mother. She hissed poison in Hornblower's ear, twisting his hair and pinching him viciously, and yet he gazed up at her beatifically, dazed with gratitude, his prick iron hard against his thigh. "Hit him again," she told William, pulling back her husband's head so that his body was open and defenseless, and William gave Hornblower the back of his hand, knocking him to the ground again. 

His captain was fiercely stubborn, and it took longer than William expected for it to become too much for Hornblower, for Hornblower to start turning away from William's blows. But Maria placed her arm across her husband's throat to pull him back when he tried to twist away, and suddenly Hornblower was struggling for a different reason, writhing in his wife's arms as he choked and gasped for breath. 

"Please," he begged brokenly, tears on his cheeks when she let him breathe again. Bush could not tell if he begged for mercy or continuation. "Maria, please, I beg —" Hornblower began, but she cut off his breath again, and this time in his violent thrashings, even with his arms bound, he nearly broke free. William moved in to help, strong hands closing around Hornblower's throat, and the intimacy of it, looking into Hornblower's pleading eyes while William denied him breath, nearly broke him. He let go, Hornblower's breath coming in shuddering sobs, and William's answering inhale was ragged, too.

"Will," Maria said, her hand cool against his cheek. He looked up, and found her eyes kind and sympathetic. She stroked his cheek with her thumb. "Shall I get my device?"

He shook his head; just her touch had steadied him somewhat. "No. Help me get him on the bed." 

"Brave man," she said, and something rose up in him fierce and bright: in that moment he would have eaten from her hand if Maria Hornblower asked it of him.

Hornblower was sagging in her embrace; William doubted he had the strength to stand. But evidently Maria knew her husband better than William did — she sank her fingers in his curls and dragged his head back. "On your feet, you worthless thing," she hissed in his ear. "Don't make us do all the work, good-for-nothing." Hornblower obligingly tried to get his feet under himself, but he was weak and uncoordinated, hampered by not having use of his hands. William grabbed him under an arm and helped haul him to his feet. Hornblower's prick bobbed obscenely in the air.

"On the bed," William ordered, and half-dragged, half-pitched Hornblower face-first onto it.

But Hornblower pushed himself over onto his back, as much as his bound hands allowed, and weakly wormed himself further away from his tormenters. "It's enough," he pleaded, his voice hoarse. "Maria, it's enough. Stop now."

But Maria crawled onto the bed next to her husband. "Oh, Horry," she said, running her hand tenderly through his hair. "You know it's not." She pinched off his nose and covered his mouth with her other hand. Hornblower arched and shouted under her palm, thrashing to break her grip, and Bush leant his weight to pin Hornblower to the bed, straddling his hips and putting his arm across Hornblower's throat. The lean, muscled body twisted under him. "You musn't tell lies, you wicked thing," Maria reproved her husband, and still he thrashed. Bush could smell Hornblower's sweat and fear, and overcome, he leaned down to taste Hornblower's skin, then to set his teeth hard into his breast.

"There now," Maria said when she released her husband again, Hornblower's entire body heaving with his panicked gasps. "Tell us what you deserve. Truthfully, now. No cowardice."

But Hornblower didn't seem to hear her. His face crumbled, his head shaking from side-to-side. He was openly crying now, and Will moved aside as Maria gently took Hornblower's shoulder and turned him into the bed.

"Now, Will," she said. And when William hesitated, she added, "Or I shall, if you would rather."

William stood undecided, entranced by Hornblower's lean and vulnerable body on the bed, but still filled with misgiving about what he was being asked to do. But then Hornblower croaked Bush's name, his hands flexing at the small of his back. It was enough, somehow, that broken plea, enough to break through the confusion in William's head. He had already removed his waistcoat and neckcloth during the heavy work of beating Hornblower; now he undid the fall of his breeches. Even despite his tumult of emotions, he was hard, and he gave himself a few experimental strokes, watching the twitch of Hornblower's buttocks. Maria had turned Hornblower's head toward her and was delivering evil little slaps to his face, telling him how low and worthless he was. Paradoxically, Hornblower seemed to be trying to take shelter from her cruelty in her skirts.

"Don't go easy on him," she warned, looking up at William. "He won't thank you for it later." Then she turned back to Hornblower, dragging his head back by his curls. "You're going to get what's coming to you. Your Mr Bush deserves something nice, just recompense after everything you've put him through tonight." She slapped his face again, and Hornblower inhaled brokenly. 

"Bush," he cried. "Please, _Bush."_

William nudged Hornblower's legs apart and climbed onto the bed. He hauled Hornblower's hips upright — Hornblower did not fight him, but rather tried to draw his knees under himself. William took himself in hand and applied his cock to Hornblower's arse. After a short struggle, William successfully pierced him, and Hornblower shouted, his entire body going rigid. Maria slapped his face. " _Silence,_ " she hissed.

" _Please,_ " Hornblower sobbed, long past being able to listen to Maria, and William gave an experimental thrust, just to watch that lithe body writhe, to watch those long fingers of Hornblower's fist and twist. Then he drew back and fucked himself into that exhausted, beautiful body.

But it wasn't enough to fuck Hornblower like that, wasn't enough for either of them, not when William knew what Hornblower had asked for — and a request from his captain was as good as an order, however terrible it might seem in the offing. 

William sat back, gathering Hornblower up into his lap, and Hornblower shuddered as he sank fully onto William's mast. William arched him back and wrapped his arm around Hornblower's throat, the other forearm behind his neck, and Hornblower shook his head, twisting on William's cock.

"God no, please don't," he croaked. "I can't…"

But Maria crawled around in front of him and took his face in her hands. "It doesn't matter if you can't," she told him, and slapped him hard across the cheek. Hornblower's body pulsed beautifully around Will's cock, causing Will to thrust upward. She kissed Hornblower, angry and ruthless. "You wanted to be nothing. You _are_ nothing." She hit Hornblower again, and again Hornblower flinched around William's yard. "Go on, Will," she said, touching his arm where it was wrapped around her husband's neck.

William flexed his arms, cutting off Hornblower's air, and Hornblower seized in panic. 

It wasn't a position William could maintain for long, fucking up into Hornblower like that while William choked him, but Hornblower nevertheless writhed gorgeously in William's lap for the length a half dozen thrusts, his entire body taut, seizing for lack of breath. Maria reached for Hornblower's cock, and then Hornblower was coming violently, his body spasming around William's yard. William collapsed forward, pressing Hornblower's face into Maria's skirts as William rutted feverishly into Hornblower's slack body. Then William, too, was coming, clutching hard at Hornblower's shoulder and hip, his teeth in Hornblower's flesh.

There was no glow of pleasure afterward, no sense of lazy contentment, just cold sinking horror at what he had done. He had struck his captain, spoke insubordinately to him, buggered him — it was a hanging offense, several times over. It would have been indefensible even with mad, sadistic Sawyer, but with Hornblower, to whom he owed every gratitude and loyalty… He pushed himself off of Hornblower and out from under Maria's hand — she had one gentle hand in her husband's hair, calling him her angel and her darling, but her other hand had been on William's shoulder, smoothing his damp shirt across his skin. Hornblower took a deep, ragged inhale when freed from William's weight, but Maria gave William a quizzical look. William dropped his eyes rather than meet that gaze, and withdrew from Hornblower's body with a sickly plop, hurriedly doing up his fall, ashamed to be naked before his captain's wife. 

Hornblower's body was heavily marked, red patches already going brown with bruising, angry toothmarks on his shoulders, and his _wrists—_ God, his _wrists._ With clumsy fingers, William hastily plucked at the knots around Hornblower's wrists, muscle memory saving him when thought failed. He loosened the turns of rope, and Hornblower groaned piteously as he stiffly brought his arms back around to his front.

"Give them here, my angel," Maria said, and Hornblower, his face still in his wife's skirts, meekly put his hands into hers. She chafed them tenderly, careful to pass over where the skin was raw, stroking her hands over his arms and shoulders, rubbing blood back into the aching muscles.

William watched blankly, feeling vaguely shaky. 

He stood, looking for his clothing.

"Will," Maria said. And then more sharply, " _Will._ Come here. Horry, my darling, I'll be just a moment," she said, and extricating herself from her husband, clambered off the bed. She came to William, took his hands, looking earnestly into his face. "Come back to bed."

"I should go, ma'am," he said, determined not to intrude. He had already grossly overstepped; the sooner he left… "I left Orrock in charge."

"Do as you're told, Bush," Hornblower rasped from the bed. He coughed; evidently his throat pained him. "Prowse won't let Orrock get into any trouble." And then, when William still hesitated, "Listen to my wife, you son of a bitch."

William coloured to hear his own insubordinate words in his captain's mouth — his captain, who refused to permit such rough language to be used toward even his errant midshipmen. But there was only one possible response. "Yes, sir," he said, and let himself be drawn back to the bed. 

"That's better," she said, and reseated herself against the headboard. Hornblower immediately reached for her legs, putting his face back in her skirts. Some part of Bush longed to do the same. "Come sit here against me. You did beautifully," she said, and stroked his cheek. "Dear Will, brave Will. You were exactly what he needed." She kissed his lips, as if bestowing a benediction. He wondered at himself, kissing his captain's wife, and doing so right before the man himself, but Hornblower rested a hand on William's thigh, and William gave in to his fate, whatever it might be. 

"That's better," she said, and drew his head down to rest on her shoulder. "You did beautifully," she told him again, her fingers soothing in his hair. "Tell him, Horry," she said, and Hornblower grunted unhappily, obviously not wishing to rouse himself. " _Horry,_ " she insisted, shaking his shoulder. "Will needs you."

Hornblower's deliberations were agonising. "A true friend," he finally pronounced, the words stiff in his mouth. He cemented it with a meaningful press of William's thigh. "No first officer I could trust better."

William felt a fierce glow of warmth at the words; his thigh burned under Hornblower's hand. "Thank you, sir," he answered, nearly as husky as his captain.

"There now," Maria said, and resumed stroking William's hair. "My sweet angel and my dear Will," she pronounced. She continued to murmur nonsense, and William let the words senselessly wash over him, anchored to her voice and her husband's hand upon his thigh.


End file.
